


Red

by orphan_account



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blood, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:50:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4762331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your crush on this asshole is getting old, Locus,” Felix says, his hand dropping on Locus’ shoulder with a wet clap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> UHHH SO. I'm so ashamed, but this is basically just horrible quick porn. If I get brave enough I'll GO BIG but for now I just want to go home. This is my first time submitting porn and while it's not incredibly graphic... well. It's also unedited because if I sleep now and edit it later, I won't have enough courage to post it.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Blood, violence to a deceased body, mental fuckery, emotional manipulation, handjobs.

The slope approaching the Purge was a dull orange, muddled with browns and reds. The browns were natural; the reds were recent, slapped across the landscape like a crude painting. A work of art done with two pairs of hands, a knife and a gun.

“Hey, hey look at this!”

It sickens him to think about it, for some reason. It’s more poetic and meaningful this time, and he doesn’t like it. There used to be something normal about getting the job done, he’d never stopped to think about the bodies of those who were caught up on the wrong side of war before.

No, that’s not true—

“I said _look_ , Locus. You’re gonna miss my show! In a few minutes it’s going to look like shit,” Felix is moving around in his peripheral vision. He can see him stop, tilt his head. “Literally, it’s _literally_ going to look like shit.”

He seems amused by his own observation, Locus notes dully. Without focusing on anything in specific, he turns his head in Felix’s direction. His partner can’t tell, and gleefully continues on. “God, those fuckers are going to be pissing and crying when we’re done with the body. Do you think Tucker would shit himself if I dropped Wash’s head on his lap? Maybe it should be his dick instead.”

Locus doesn’t say anything at first, but when his fingers clench into a fist he growls out a response, “We don’t need to desecrate Washington’s body, Felix,” to Locus, killing the Freelancer was far enough. He was a worthy opponent, right until the end. “We should leave it here and continue to our goal.”

He can’t see Felix’s face through the dark visor, but he knows him well enough to read him. He’s part pouting, part angry, completely laughing.

“I don’t think so.”

Locus’ vision sharpens on his partner as he suddenly kneels next to the bloodied body—the one that used to house someone Locus respected. He swallows but it doesn’t ease his hollow feeling; that never again would he think of Washington as a threat, as an equal, as someone he could relate to. That he’d likely never think it about anyone else.

“Your crush on this asshole is getting old, Locus,” Felix says, his hand dropping on Locus’ shoulder with a wet clap. “Maybe our next job will have one of the big guys for you to admire, partner. Like Master… whatever the hell his name is.”

Felix knows his name. He likely doesn’t care. Locus watches as his hand slides off of his shoulder, trailing shining blood, and a moment later he’s back crouched over Washington. With a soft grunt, Locus turns away from the spectacle. He contemplates blocking the noise coming from behind him, but reluctantly accepts that he was a part of this. No matter how much he dislikes it, he’s there with Felix.

Felix, angrily laughing as he brings a knife down into the still chest of the soldier. Locus is there. Felix, cursing and shouting to nobody as he twists the knife around in cooling flesh. Locus is there, too.

The taste in his mouth is bitter, but he has no time to dwell on it. They have a _job_ and the moment Felix can unwind from his frenzy, they’ll be finishing it.

“Hey,” comes Felix’s voice from behind him, dropping low. Locus turns to him, expecting the moment to be over, hoping to get his partner back from whatever grabs him when he’s angry. “I have a great idea.”

What Locus isn’t capable of realising is that this is always his partner.

Felix’s gloves are discarded, tossed carelessly on top of the open chest cavity on the ground. Locus notices that one of them is propped up by something white, a rib. The front of his bodysuit is ripped away entirely and exposes the most intimate view of Washington’s anatomy.

“Greaaaaat idea. Fuck, I should have thought of this before!” Felix pauses, then shrugs. “But I guess it wouldn’t be as great with anyone else.”

Locus watches him wipe his hands through Washington’s chest, coating his skin in his blood. Felix turns to him again, chuckling.

“It’s still kinda warm.” A hand reaches up, drawing a line of blood across his helmet, following the pattern. Locus grabs his wrist, but it’s delayed. He feels heavy, darkened; completely unworthy of… anything. Everything. And yet nothing at the same time. Felix notices—of course he does—and Locus can practically see the smile behind his helmet. “It’s alright. You liked him, didn’t you?”

“That’s not…” Locus begins, but Felix cuts him off with his other hand, finishing the red X on his helmet.

“There’s nothing to worry about. The mission’s going to be over soon. We did it,” his voice is softer, comforting to Locus. “There’s only one more order. Then we’re on to the next one. But for now…”

Locus doesn’t notice when he lets go of Felix’s wrist. One second he’s in his grasp, and the next his hands are on the tops of his thighs long enough to leave brilliant red handprints on his armour. Felix is muttering something to himself, something about making a mess, then unceremoniously tugs at Locus’ codpiece. Locus can hear him laughing, saying _bingo_ , and then his fingers are inside of his suit, brushing against his cock.

“Jesus, you weren’t turned on by that at all?” Felix sounds annoyed by it. “Good thing I’m in a charitable mood today. You won’t even have to do any work this time.”

He’s pulled free, Felix’s thumb stroking the underside enough for him to start getting hard before letting go to undo his own codpiece and imitate the action on himself. Locus can see that he’s already erect, probably proudly. Once he’s done, before Locus starts feeling like a fool for enjoying the sight, he’s turning to the body once more. With his hands coated in the Freelancer’s blood once more, he turns to Locus and steps up against him.

“See?” Felix wraps a hand around the both of them, rubbing the blood over their cocks with a laugh. “You can’t deny it, this was seriously the best idea.”

Locus assumes he can’t because his body is reacting—not just to Felix, he’s experienced his partner before and _knows_ what that’s like. There’s something about seeing the blood, Agent Washington’s blood specifically, slathered over his cock.

It’s wrong.

In Felix’s words, it’s twisted and disgusting.

And yet, he can’t look away. His helmet bumps the front of Felix’s as he watches, unable to move as Felix works them into a slow rhythm. The blood is mixing with his precum—or Felix’s—and slowly rolling to the ground. His attention is hyper focused on everything; his own steadily rising breathing, Felix softly humming in delight, the occasional drip of liquid meeting the ground and the wet slide of dirtied hands on him.

It’s probably the shortest handjob of his life, even when Felix grips him tightly, forcing his orgasm down, to wait until he was ready. Like several times earlier, Locus is surprised to find his own hands somewhere unexpected; this time, clawing into the back of Felix’s bodysuit, forcing their bodies together.

When he climaxes, it’s with a hiss and a wave of shame, only dashed with the usual euphoria. He’s left shaking as Felix finishes—a drawn out noise that trails off into a laugh. Locus admits it’s fitting for him. When Felix takes a step back, the two of them look down. Felix, admiring the view of cum and blood smeared over his stomach and Locus trying to regain the recoil he had from earlier.

It was gone.

“Man, this is all gonna dry up soon. Wouldn’t want to let Wash here go to waste, right? He’s probably into that recycling shit anyway.”

Maybe his partner was right. The mission is guaranteed a success.

He had followed his orders. Agent Washington had been a letdown, and any relation he could have had with the man had died with him.

“So, again—what would make Tucker scream? His head, or his dick?”

 

 


End file.
